TickTockTickTock
by A fool who thinks they're wise
Summary: The rusted old clock on the south wall of a broken down house ticks and tocks on and on in an endless cycle, counting down something. But she can't remember what. Warnings for references to domestic violence, depression and character death. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THESE THINGS ARE A TRIGGER FOR YOU OR UPSETS YOU IN ANY WAY.


**Hello all! **This is a oneshot plot bunny that I accepted a year ago from this gal here: SageOfVideoGames The original plot bunny was this: Phantom won (which means that Gajeel never turned good) and Gajeel decided to make Lucy his 'woman'. And since the theme of the MEP is "an abused woman clings to her abuser hoping he'll change", she developed stockholm syndrome even though he's an abusive prick. Here's the video for that: watch?v=9U8pQYw1L-E

But as you'll see I took this idea and veered **way** off course. I hope you'll forgive me for that.

**Warnings: **references to domestic violence, character death, depression. This is **not** a **happy fanfic**. **If this kind of stuff upsets you**, **click** the **back button** right **now**. I don't want you to read this if it's going to upset you in a very big way. So** please**, **if it does**, **click the back button**.

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Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The rusted old clock on the south wall of a broken down house ticks and tocks on and on in an endless cycle, counting down something. But she can't remember what.  
She is lost, lost on an island in the middle of an inky black sea. Surrounded by fear and doubt and sorrow; the warmth of her past nothing but illusions that shimmer briefly in front of her before flickering out as she tries to reach towards them. A cruel trick, created to allow hope to flicker through her before completely extinguishing it.  
Sometimes, in the brief good moments, she tries to recall the faces of the people that are the source of that wonderful warmth. She can recall a bar counter, golden keys, magic cards, ice sculptures, intricate armor, spiky, pink hair, burning onyx eyes, and an idiotic grin. But they soon begin to blur and mix with the steady stream of memories that flicker just out of her reach when she hears the knocks on the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

What is it counting down to? Why can't she remember?  
She runs a hand down her arms, tracing the patterns of the bruises that cover them, in an attempt to try and force the memories back into focus. She is so lost in her thoughts that she accidentally presses down on the bruise, so dark against her ivory skin, and winces in pain before letting her hand fall back to her side. From her position on the bed, she can look out of the window opposite her into the world around her; she sees two young boys playing with each other, passing a ball back and forth and laughing together. She watches as the blonde haired boy looks away for a moment at a butterfly as it passes him and, as a result, is smacked in the head by the ball. The other boy, a tanned, black haired one, rushes to his side instantly, checking him over for any lasting injury that the ball might have caused. The blonde haired one laughs and waves him off, assuring him that he is all right. The black haired boy taps his head and sings something before smiling and helping him up. She has become a good lip-reader now, from all her time sitting and watching instead of participating.

_"Pain, Pain, fly away!" _The boy sings, in what she imagines is a high-pitched, youthful voice, full of innocence and life. She doesn't know what she sounds like anymore, but she's sure that it isn't anything close to what she imagines the boy's voice to be. She can't remember the last time she used her voice for anything except pleading and screaming, but she **knows** it has be when she snuck out to find Loki at the waterfall. Where she had pleaded for him to keep living, even though she herself had begun to wonder what the point of it all was. She had smiled through the dark thoughts that had begun to pool in the recess of her mind, slowly seeping through the rest of her consciousness until she ended up in her current state.

Thinking about Loki leads her back to that day, which manages to creep into her thoughts despite her attempts to block it out. She remembers it as though she is looking through a blurred windowpane, helpless to stop the scene unfolding in front of her. The blur of a battle, the cries of her Nakama, her own screams as the shock of what was happening passed and cruel reality set in. The huge boom that sent everyone flying in every direction, rubble cascading through the air. She remembers reaching out for someone's hand, only to have something pull her back just seconds before she could reach the outstretched fingertips. She remembers the fall towards the ground and the bodies that littered the ground outside of what used to be her guild. She remembers the silence that seemed to last for hours around her as she stared at the scene surrounding her; someone else's blood splashed across her face and more of it trickling down her arm. She remembers screaming, screaming until her throat turned raw and the only thing she could manage was a small whimper as she continued to call out for somebody, anybody, **everybody**; to get up and tell her that it was all going to be ok. That it wasn't her fault that everyone around them was drained of their vitality and life force; it wasn't her fault that they weren't opening their eyes.

It wasn't her fault that they were all dead.

She remembers looking for spiky pink hair and an idiotic grin and instead finding cruel red eyes and gleaming white teeth, sharp enough to bite through iron. She remembers turning to run and feeling something hit the back of her neck before blackness rushed up to meet her. She remembers brief snatches of conversation that float in and out of her hearing range before waking up in the imperial guards camp to a terrible headache and a dry throat. They gave her some soup, a glass of water, dressed her wounds, and explained to her what had happened. This part always snapped into focus with terrifying clarity.

"Miss. Heartfilia?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I…"

The guard sighed softly and straightened his papers.  
"Your guild, Fairy Tail, has been destroyed by the guild Phantom Lord. Our information at this time concludes that there are no survivors besides yourself." It was the voice of someone who had to deliver announcements of this nature on a daily basis, detached and completely void of emotion, save for the slight waver of pity that pierced through her heart. "Would you like us to contact your next of kin?"  
Contact **him**? Contact the man that was solely responsible for the deaths of so many of her nakama? **Contact** the **evil** man who had taken away that pink spiky hair and idiotic grin from her?

"No." She said, unwavering in her conviction.

The guard watched her for a moment, unsurprised, causing her to wonder exactly how much they knew about what had transpired that day.  
"The leader of Phantom Lord has been successfully apprehended and imprisoned for his crimes against your guild." The guard stood up. "If we gain any new information on what happened that day, or news of any survivors, we'll make sure to contact you."

And with that, she was thrown back out into the world again. The cold cruel world that couldn't seem to understand why she refused to pick up and move on from what had happened. Why she couldn't forget that idiotic grin and the warmth that protected her from the frost of the outside world. Why she refused to set foot outside of her apartment to try and raise money for the rent that she was so far behind on. In turn, she wondered how they could find it in their hearts to turn her out of her apartment, where the idiotic grin had spent so many days teasing her, and out into the cold streets. She wandered aimlessly around, without purpose and without a desire to continue on; until she found herself collapsed at the big tree in the center of magnolia's park, looking up into the same cruel red eyes that had haunted her dreams for the past six months.

She remembers the hand that reached down to help her up from the cold, soggy ground, and she wonders if it might have been better to refuse that hand and just allow the cold to seep through her bones; let it carry her away to wherever it was that idiotic grin had run away to.  
But that spark of life had yet to totally leave her and, in her desperation that nothing else be lost to her, she grasped it and the hand tightly, refusing to let go.  
She felt a laugh threaten to bubble up from her throat and escape her mouth at the thought. She had chosen the hand in order to survive for just that little bit longer, and instead had found herself in this state; caught between life and death in such a way that she no longer trust that she was really breathing anymore. Was that her own heartbeat she heard in her ears? Or was it just the endless ticking of that beat up old clock?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

In the bad moments, came the primal urge to break that clock, to silence its infernal ticking that counted down to the something that she couldn't remember. She knew that something wasn't good though, and her exhausted brain deviously whispered the suggestion that if the clock could no longer tick down to it; then it wouldn't happen. She had often made her way across the room to stare at the clock, feeling her fists itch at her sides; silently urging her to let them rain down upon it.

But she never did.

It was probably because, in the good moments, the mediocre moments, and even the bad moments, the clock was a friend and the only constant thing in her life. No matter what happened to her, no matter how loud the voices in her head hissed and how harshly they clawed at her, she could always look to the clock and find comfort in the fact that it would keep up its steady ticking.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

She wondered if the knocking would be coming soon, like it always did. There was no need to knock really; it was the red eyes' house after all. She got the sense that the only reason that they knocked was so they could mock her when she opened the door and let them in, even when she knew what her actions would entail. But if she didn't open the door, they would knock it down and get inside anyway. Except that glimmer of laughter in the red eyes would be swallowed up by a burning fire of pure rage. She knew. She had tried that once, in one of the good moments. But the good moments had stopped coming for a while after that, so when another one finally did come around, she resolved never to try that ever again.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The two boys had vanished from her sight when she had been lost in her memories, so she had a clear view of the setting sun and its sky. A range of hues in orange, and yellow rested gently around the burning ball of light as it began to slip away into the earth. There were hues of red too, but she had blocked them out. They were ugly, ugly as the liquid had splattered across her face and ran down her arm on **that** day.  
How many years had it been now? She had stopped counting after the day that she had been thrown out of her apartment. After all, it was because she was so busy counting the days until the guards would show up to tell her that she hadn't been the only survivor and lead her to that idiotic smile, that she hadn't noticed the bills pushed under her door by the landlady or the knocks on her door.

At least, that's what she told herself.

What kind of writer would she have been if she hadn't been able to observe the world around her?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The clock kept ticking; an observer in its own rights, counting down the time left remaining until **that**.  
Really, she knew what **that **was all along, but found herself more often than not pretending not to. That way she wouldn't have to think about why she was still in the house at the end of every day, and could instead feign ignorance when the knocking finally came around. But she knew, like the red eyes knew, that it was only so she wouldn't have to deal with the screaming in her head that pounded against her skull and demand that she fix this somehow whenever she acknowledged that fact that she knew what **that** was.

**That** could be a lot of things, that's what was so terrifying about it. The not knowing was almost worse than the seconds before it happened, when you finally realized what **that** was, but could do nothing to prevent it. However, whatever **that **ended up being, the end result was the same every single time. Dark bruises that were like stains against her ivory skin, an ache that seemed to encompass her whole body, and silent tears and sobs that wracked her whole body. Lately though, the sobs had been missing, leaving only silent tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared into the blackness of the dark room around her from her vantage point on the bed. She wondered if she should be worried about that; if the silent shaking of her body was something that she really shouldn't be missing.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Loki had come to see her once, when he couldn't feel her presence by the keys anymore, after red eyes had taken them away somewhere. She had laughed and smiled, told him that she was happy and not to interfere. She had told lots of lies; pretending that red eyes was the best thing that had happened to her, pretending that she was grateful to him for saving her life from the cold, soggy ground that winter's night millions of years ago. She begged and pleaded whatever god happened to be listening to make him believe her, but couldn't stop the dull ache within her heart when he did. She barely managed to hold back the scream that threatened to rip from her throat when he accepted her excuse about letting him take the keys so that another stellar spirit mage could make use of them, now that she was retired and all.

_**Look**__ at me, look at __**me**__, lookatmelookatme__**dammit**__JUSTLOOK__**PLEASE**__._

Though she managed to contain that particular scream, her heart had screamed long after he had left; a terrible scream, one that broke at the edges and was fraught with such pain that she wondered how it could possibly exist within her without tearing her apart.

But then, **she** had existed this long, right?

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

She flinched slightly at the sound of the knocks. Turning to look at the clock, she noted that it had not yet ticked all the way down to** that**. Strange. She wondered if red eyes had been let off early by their boss today, or if they had skived off work and chosen to hit the bar earlier than usual.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Setting her feet down upon the rotten and scuffed wooden floor; she made her way over to the filthy, cracked door and turned the dull doorknob, allowing the door to swing open and reveal-  
Not the red eyes.

Blinking dull brown eyes in confusion, she stared blankly into the grey bearded face and the many royal guard uniforms that stood behind it.  
For a long moment, the two observed each other silently, the bearded face doing most of the observing while she continued to stare, before a throat was cleared.  
"Lucy Heartfilia?"  
She watched for a moment more before it clicked that the face was talking to her. She had forgotten what the sound of that name sounded like when spoken aloud and not hidden in other names such as "woman", "bitch" and "you".  
"Yes?" She replied, in a voice that cracked from all the years that it had spent with howls of pain and misery instead of words.  
The face watched her carefully as it continued on.  
"We have to come to contact you on the matter of your guild's destruction." There was a careful pause. "Are you aware of what I'm talking about?"

Was she ever not?

She worked hard to push the words past the lump currently obstructing the flow of air to her lungs.  
"Yes. Yes, I'm aware."  
The face nodded; she watched a hooked nose and grey eyes begin to click into place.  
"Upon further investigation, we have found that quite a few members of your guild have survived its destruction. It seems that they have the past few months recovering from the explosion and the resulting barrage of falling objects at a Polyusica sama's reside-Miss. Heartfilia!"

She felt herself slide down the door and fall forwards into the guard's nimble arms; a wave of indescribable emotions flooding her, making her knees weak with relief as she released a breath that she had been holding for far too long. She was going to see the idiotic grin again! She let out what would have normally been a radiant laugh, but in her voice's current state, sounded more like a throaty wheeze. The guard looked at her with a crinkled brow and worried grey eyes, but she was past that. She looked up and noted that the ugly red hues had faded to beautiful pinks that contrasted wonderfully against the pitch-black darkness that had begun to tint the edges of the sky. She was going to see that idiotic grin again! And that spiky, pink hair was going to be there, free for her to ruffle and tug harshly as she yelled at it for leaving her all alone. In fact, if she focused hard enough on the sky above her, she could almost see it.

As she reached out to touch it, she was vaguely aware of the hand that rested against her forehead, checking for something. The shout that came after and the footsteps that took off away from them sounded like it had come from somewhere far away, as her fingertips stretched out even further; she was almost there! The guard was yelling something as her, his face blurring in and out of her vision before falling away to the blackness that tinted the edges her vision like the night sky against the hues of pinks. Her fingertips gave one final stretch towards the pink hair before her whole body seemed to tighten and then sag as her eyes slipped closed. Her hand fell to her side as a whisper wound its way through her tired mind.

_"Luce."  
_"Natsu." She murmured softly, "I'm going to see you again, right?" She was dully aware of a smile spreading across her pale face before she surrendered herself to the blackness that had rushed up to claim her.


End file.
